I like the idea of the slow food movement. I’ve always loved to eat. But for a long time, I revelled in my inability to cook. I think I had a twisted notion that it enhanced my uniqueness somehow, along with the fact I played electric and listened to grunge (a girl who can’t cook! And in a post-feminist world, that’s okay!).
Then I decided I loved food too much to hold back. I’ve a long way to go to catch T, who’s been watching Food TV forever and has that instinct about pairing flavours and textures and ingredients. But I’m gettin’ there.
And deliberate, conscious choices in food consumption, I think, should be celebrated and applauded. I’m still very much price-conscious, but quality is incredibly important to me, and really, who doesn’t love to spend a lazy Saturday morning at the farmer’s market?
But I digress. What I wanted to talk about was this: a slow-books manifesto.
Read books. As often as you can. Mostly classics.
(What does that sound like? Michael Pollan, you say? You’d be right. “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.”)
That’s a big call, I say. I reckon my literary split is about 50/50. Of course, the classics take me alot longer to plough through, so it feels more like 90/10.
Classics are hard work. I do enjoy them, most of the time. They’re demanding, yes, but often proportionately more rewarding.
But I need to break them up with lighter material that’s less taxing. There’s also the fact that the heavier material is usually more, erm, depressing. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with reading fluffier stuff at all. I didn’t personally feel any need to branch out from YA and blockbusters until a couple of years ago. Whatever your taste is, I just think it’s awesome that you are an adult reader, because too many people give up books after school.
Reading should be celebrated and encouraged (though I think the memoirs of reality stars are about as bookish as those foul fruit rollups are foodish).
How would you describe your literary tastes?